I just have diabetes, Mom! It’s not who I
am
!’
‘I’m just thinking about what’s best for you—’
‘No you’re not! You’re thinking about what’s best for
you
!’
There was a brief silence.
‘Mrs Lockwood,’ the doctor said gently, opening the door. ‘Why don’t you go and grab a coffee while Florence and I have a chat?’
Her mother hesitated. Florence scowled at her trainers. Maybe she had gone a bit far with that last dig, but she wasn’t going to give Mom a break. Not this time.
‘The machine is just down the hall,’ the doctor added. ‘I’ll come update you when we’re done.’
Why does it have to be this hard?
Florence thought unhappily as the door closed behind her mother. She’d seen her friends’ mothers bickering with them, laying down rules,
vetoing short skirts and parties; but she’d also seen them shopping together, gossiping about boys, being
friends
. She and Mom were like total strangers. She couldn’t imagine
going to her mother with a problem, or asking her advice. She’d as soon stop some random woman in the street.
She’d expected the third degree the minute she came back to the waiting room, but to her surprise, Mom said nothing. They collected the car from the parking lot and drove home in silence.
Florence shot her several sidelong glances, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Mom seemed lost in her own thoughts. See,
weird
. Normally she’d have torn her a new one over the
way she’d sassed her in front of the doctor, but it was like Mom had forgotten about it already. Like somehow in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t even matter.
As soon as they unlocked the back door and stepped into the mudroom, Dad came through from the kitchen as if he’d been waiting for them. Florence went to give him a hug, but he waved her
away without looking at her, his gaze boring straight into her mother. She’d never seen the expression on his face before: an icy, blanched anger, his blue eyes slate-grey with fury, a muscle
working at the base of his jaw as he struggled to rein in his temper. She had no idea what had made him this angry with her mother, but it had to be really,
really
bad.
Florence quailed in the doorway as he stepped forward and thrust an open letter at Mom, forcing her to take it. When he spoke, his voice was as cold and unforgiving as his expression.
‘Harriet,’ he hissed between clenched teeth, ‘
what have you done
?’
11
Zoey
Zoey simply didn’t believe it. It was so ridiculous, she wanted to laugh. So
out there,
as Nell would say, she’d have thought it was an April Fool’s
joke, except that it was now May.
She tucked the letter into the pocket of her sloppy purple cardigan and filled the kettle with water. If it really wasn’t a joke – and surely no one would take a joke this far, with
embossed headed notepaper and tests at the
hospital,
for heaven’s sake – then it was clearly a mistake. Given that the Princess Eugenie had sent two women home with the wrong
babies, as they were suggesting they had, then obviously they were more than capable of muddling up a couple of letters and sending them out to the wrong people.
She edged past the teetering pile of cardboard boxes in the hallway – she really must get round to sorting them out before Nell had kittens – and took two mugs of tea into the tiny
sitting room.
‘Can I see the letter again?’ Richard said as she handed him his mug.
She pulled it out of her pocket. ‘You’d think they could at least get
this
right,’ she said cheerfully, kicking off her shoes and curling up next to him on the sofa.
‘Some poor woman out there has been told everything’s fine, while I’ve obviously got the letter meant for her. Can you imagine how she’s going to feel when she finds
out?’
‘Zoey,’ he said, frowning. ‘I think we need to talk about this.’
She laughed. ‘I can’t see why. I’ll just call the hospital, tell them they’ve screwed up, and
am
!’
‘I’m just thinking about what’s best for you—’
‘No you’re not! You’re thinking about what’s best for
you
!’
There was a brief silence.
‘Mrs Lockwood,’ the doctor said gently, opening the door. ‘Why don’t you go and grab a coffee while Florence and I have a chat?’
Her mother hesitated. Florence scowled at her trainers. Maybe she had gone a bit far with that last dig, but she wasn’t going to give Mom a break. Not this time.
‘The machine is just down the hall,’ the doctor added. ‘I’ll come update you when we’re done.’
Why does it have to be this hard?
Florence thought unhappily as the door closed behind her mother. She’d seen her friends’ mothers bickering with them, laying down rules,
vetoing short skirts and parties; but she’d also seen them shopping together, gossiping about boys, being
friends
. She and Mom were like total strangers. She couldn’t imagine
going to her mother with a problem, or asking her advice. She’d as soon stop some random woman in the street.
She’d expected the third degree the minute she came back to the waiting room, but to her surprise, Mom said nothing. They collected the car from the parking lot and drove home in silence.
Florence shot her several sidelong glances, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Mom seemed lost in her own thoughts. See,
weird
. Normally she’d have torn her a new one over the
way she’d sassed her in front of the doctor, but it was like Mom had forgotten about it already. Like somehow in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t even matter.
As soon as they unlocked the back door and stepped into the mudroom, Dad came through from the kitchen as if he’d been waiting for them. Florence went to give him a hug, but he waved her
away without looking at her, his gaze boring straight into her mother. She’d never seen the expression on his face before: an icy, blanched anger, his blue eyes slate-grey with fury, a muscle
working at the base of his jaw as he struggled to rein in his temper. She had no idea what had made him this angry with her mother, but it had to be really,
really
bad.
Florence quailed in the doorway as he stepped forward and thrust an open letter at Mom, forcing her to take it. When he spoke, his voice was as cold and unforgiving as his expression.
‘Harriet,’ he hissed between clenched teeth, ‘
what have you done
?’
11
Zoey
Zoey simply didn’t believe it. It was so ridiculous, she wanted to laugh. So
out there,
as Nell would say, she’d have thought it was an April Fool’s
joke, except that it was now May.
She tucked the letter into the pocket of her sloppy purple cardigan and filled the kettle with water. If it really wasn’t a joke – and surely no one would take a joke this far, with
embossed headed notepaper and tests at the
hospital,
for heaven’s sake – then it was clearly a mistake. Given that the Princess Eugenie had sent two women home with the wrong
babies, as they were suggesting they had, then obviously they were more than capable of muddling up a couple of letters and sending them out to the wrong people.
She edged past the teetering pile of cardboard boxes in the hallway – she really must get round to sorting them out before Nell had kittens – and took two mugs of tea into the tiny
sitting room.
‘Can I see the letter again?’ Richard said as she handed him his mug.
She pulled it out of her pocket. ‘You’d think they could at least get
this
right,’ she said cheerfully, kicking off her shoes and curling up next to him on the sofa.
‘Some poor woman out there has been told everything’s fine, while I’ve obviously got the letter meant for her. Can you imagine how she’s going to feel when she finds
out?’
‘Zoey,’ he said, frowning. ‘I think we need to talk about this.’
She laughed. ‘I can’t see why. I’ll just call the hospital, tell them they’ve screwed up, and
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